"Why stoop to me at all, then? Surely not to gain pleasure from my seduction. Wouldn't your reputation suffer then, too? 'Brissac sleeps with a deformed, centuries-old woman,' they'd say. Or were you planning that the high and mighty of the court should whisper instead, 'Brissac has driven the ancient sorceress mad with desire-she gives him everything. What a clever fellow!'"

"You-you savage!" he exclaimed. No one likes his plans uncovered, I thought. She has mistaken him; he has deceived her. He drew himself up to his full height, which was modest, for a man, and his face froze in an aristocratic sneer.

"Evidently, Madame, no one has taken the trouble to inform you that you lack all desirable qualities for a wife: unblemished lineage, youth, that soft sweetness in the midst of innocent desires..."

"...and a handsome dowry, without which all the rest is dross," I finished up.

"Yes, a family of standing-of fortune..."

"And perhaps, Monsieur, no one has bothered to tell you that even with rank, should you become available, you are still tarnished goods, unlikely to appeal to any family of standing. Your personal habits make you unlikely to produce heirs; add to this that rumor has it you have already tainted half the little ice sellers in town with the Italian disease-hardly an affliction one wishes to see in grandchildren. You spend money like water, especially that of other people, and have caused at least one lover to leave this earth under questionable circ.u.mstances. You have fribbled away your patrimony and alienated your connections at court. These things would weigh yet more heavily than your satanism with even the most grasping family of the petty bourgeoisie, let alone one of high lineage. No, Monsieur de Brissac, even those beneath you will not have you. I suggest you keep the wife you have. Perhaps if you are gracious, she will grant you an allowance."

"I do not have to listen to this," he said, rising.

"No, but before you go, you should recall that not only do I come with a fortune greater than all but a royal dowry, but that, unlike a dowry, this fortune of mine is renewed and grows daily. I wish to be a d.u.c.h.ess; you wish to be rich-it is entirely rational to form a business partnership in the guise of marriage."

"You-you are not a woman; you are a cold-blooded monster."

"And you a hot-blooded one."

"I could destroy you for these insults."

"Why, yes, and then you'd lose your last chance at a fortune."

"I can find a dozen better brides."

"Good. Go try, and when you are tired of being rejected, return to me. I will of course be richer then. My terms may not be as easy."

"Your terms? Your terms? How dare you! It is my terms you must deal with, you unnatural crone. Brissac's terms!"

I found it hard not to laugh at him as he turned on his heel and stormed out, the very picture of deflated pomposity. An excellent outcome, I thought. I've made the offer that will please La Voisin and he has declined it, thus displeasing her. And while she has hope of him, she cannot rage at me. My soup remains wholesome, and I am unbothered by Brissac. An excellent outcome.

"Ah, there you are, after your little tete a tete. Tell me, how did it go?" The rustle of my patroness's taffeta underskirts had announced her presence long before her voice did so.

"He did not want marriage; I let him know that marriage was the price of my fortune. He said I was too deformed and obscure for a d.u.c.h.ess. He will seek elsewhere, fail, and then return. That I can predict without the gla.s.s." Her mouth drew into a grim line.

"If he has been playing with me, I swear-"

"Oh, take into account that he is a man and, therefore, hot-blooded, illogical, and changeable. He must be handled delicately if you want him to...behave."

"Ha! You are coming along nicely, my dear. Your brain is developing admirably." She looked almost benign as she accompanied me out through the now-crowded dance floor.

At the refreshment table, we met La Lepere, who was putting candied fruits into the sagging pockets of the old jacket that she wore over her shabby gown.

"Do take some of the rolls, too, my dear; they will make a lovely breakfast," said La Voisin as the old woman whirled around and tried to conceal what she was doing.

"You-you smile at me so. Your guests would not be so content with you if they knew what makes your garden so green," she said, thrusting her hands into her pockets as if to prevent anyone from s.n.a.t.c.hing back the concealed delicacies.

"So now you begrudge me my gardeners? Come, come. There was a time you thought more generously than that."

There was a shrill laugh from a masked court lady who had overheard us. "Oh, my, yes, your gardeners are miracle workers! I begrudge you them myself. Look at those roses, still blooming so lushly, and those lilies! And chrysanthemums! Twice the size of mine! Oh, what is your secret?" The chemists of the rue Forez, La Trianon and La Dodee, who had stopped at the wine fountain, turned their heads toward us and nodded and smiled.

"It's what you feed them," La Voisin said archly.

"And what is that?" the masked court lady asked.

"Have your gardeners compost spoiled fish from the market. They work miracles," replied the sorceress with her strange, pointed little smile, and she turned away. La Lepere followed us into a grape arbor lit with hanging lanterns and draped with lush vines, heavy with fruit.

"Catherine," she said, "it was not always like this. Take my advice as an old friend-get rid of this garden full of bones."

"Get rid of it? Ridiculous! I'm very fond of it. They keep my oven running day and night, these courtiers, in the good season, and my garden-exquisite. And I like them there-all those little marquises and counts and chevaliers and whatnot who make my flowers bloom. And how delightful a spectacle to see their high-born parents dancing on them without a care in the world-Oh, Margot, what? The wine fountain needs renewing already? Use the cheaper Bordeaux. They've been drinking long enough not to know the difference. Yes, do hurry along now. Where was I? Oh yes, my garden. I like it this way. I have no intention of digging it up." Insects swarmed around the lanterns, battering themselves on the gla.s.s.

"Catherine, it cannot end well. This...this...the way you mock the world. You should give it up."

"And be poor? Va, va, I have ten mouths to feed...and I do it rather well, too, not even counting the fact that I'm supporting people like you. My business is no different from half the world's. I just do it better, that's all."

"Better-or worse-depending on how you look at it," muttered La Lepere, as the violins struck up a pavane.

It was on the Wednesday following the party that I received a note from Monsieur Geniers, my silent partner in vengeance. My uncle, the Chevalier de Saint-Laurent, had refused, it seems, to make good on his debts and, after the appropriate legal processes, had been thrown into debtors' prison, where he wrote pitiful letters begging Monsieur Geniers for money to pay the jailers for food and blankets. Good, I hope he stays locked up forever, I thought, and felt indescribable relief that I no longer risked crossing his path and being recognized. Things seem to be working out for me, for Marie-Angelique. Now I'll end my day by dropping in on Marie-Angelique to see how she is. I wonder what would be a nice gift for the baby? Half daydreaming, I mounted into the carriage, hardly noticing that it had pulled out into the street. Perhaps the baby will be a girl. That will be easy to choose for. I'll get her a dress and a little silver spoon with her name on it. The carriage paused, halted by a crowd of pedestrians, chairs, and a dray wagon at the corner of the rue de Picardie. An aunt? That will be odd, to be an aunt. All memories of Uncle flew out of my mind with the agreeable notion of aunthood. Outside, my driver was shouting insults, but I didn't really notice. Suddenly I thought of d'Urbec's busybody aunt and how her mind was all formed by romance novels. Perhaps the brain softens when one becomes an aunt. I'll borrow Marie-Angelique's copy of Clelie and see if it seems any less silly. Then I'll know. The odd notion amused me, and I laughed out loud. I could feel the stares of strangers at the eerie old crone who laughed alone in the carriage caught in the midst of a street quarrel.

CHAPTER THIRTY

"I declare, Sister, I will never get over the new way you look," exclaimed Marie-Angelique as we kissed each other in greeting. "My, my, haven't we come a long way from the time we'd peek from behind the curtain at the cavaliers in the street! Remember the one with the mandolin? And the poor fellow with all the ribbons, who brought his friends to give him courage?" The silk of her gown rustled as she poured a cordial from an ornate crystal-and-gold decanter. Her face looked puffy under its layers of rouge and powder. But not a hair was out of place beneath her elegant jeweled combs.

"You look tired, Marie-Angelique. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, Genevieve," she said, sitting down and wiping her eyes, "I told Monsieur de Vivonne last night about the baby. He...he doesn't want it. He looked so cold, Sister. He said there is something ugly and puffy about pregnant women, and that explained why I'd had a...a distinctly lower cla.s.s look about me lately. He said...if I truly loved him, I'd keep myself attractive for him."

"But, Marie-Angelique, you're beautiful! You haven't changed at all!"

"He says I have. And I've heard he's seeing Madame de Ludres, that awful, rich, snotty little canoness. She's ambitious, she has the rank...the elegance. And...and she's not...puffy. I have to keep his love, or I'm ruined, Sister."

"Marie-Angelique, this doesn't sound very honest to me. He just doesn't want to acknowledge the child and end up supporting it. If you want your baby, you should just have it."

Marie-Angelique bowed her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing black eye shadow and white powder together in a muddy trail. Her voice was low. "He said that if I didn't care enough for our love to please him and get it taken care of, he'd sooner see me in a convent-or in the Salpetriere like a common prost.i.tute-than flaunting his b.a.s.t.a.r.d around town. He has power, Sister, great power. I'd never see my child again-What would happen then? Oh, G.o.d, Sister, what shall I do? The cast-off little mistress, locked up for life to pray for forgiveness for her sins! And my baby-Without a mother, what would happen to my poor child? I can't live; I swear, I can't! G.o.d wishes me to die for my sins-" I held her to me as she doubled over with weeping.

"Don't cry, Sister, don't cry," I pleaded. "It will all be all right. G.o.d means you to live and have your baby and be happy." Strands of Marie-Angelique's hair came loose from her combs, shining all golden, a trail of light across the somber black silk of my dress. Even with her beauty, she, too, had been betrayed by Mother, just as surely as I had been.

"Marie-Angelique," I said, "I've got a house, I've got money put away. You could stay with me and have your baby secretly. He'd never know. You could fool him. Tell him you can't make up your mind. Tell him it's risky early on. Then when it's time, tell him you're visiting an abortionist. I'd keep the baby for you, and you could visit. It...it would be nice for me. And it would be almost like keeping it yourself."

"Oh, Genevieve, if I only could. But he won't wait anymore. If I put him off, I'll lose him. There are dozens of women who want him. Women of rank, women of wealth and beauty. I've...I've stepped into a world that's beyond me, Sister. All I have is my beauty. I must renew our love before it is lost. It is the only way open to me. I must." Her eyes, as she stared at my face, were full of desperation. Her face was pale and twisted with anxiety beneath the gaudy spots of rouge and muddy splashes of smeared powder. "Tell me," she whispered, "in all your, ah, business, have you ever heard of the Comte de Longueval?"

"Longueval?" I asked again just to make sure. My heart stood still for a moment. I knew Longueval all too well.